


He Remembered

by MadKiska



Category: Mianite - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Realm of Mianite - Fandom
Genre: Angsty Stuff, Prodigal Son AU, if i have motivation, might add more later - Freeform, this is more of an experiment than anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadKiska/pseuds/MadKiska
Summary: It was a long time that Jordan spent away. He remembers a lot about what he learnt there. What his friends told him, what they said, what he did. So why, once he finds something far more familiar than anything he ever saw before, does he not remember?CHARACTERS. NOT REAL PEOPLE. DON'T SHIP REAL PEOPLE.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time uploading something to ao3 so I hope it works!

Falling.. Wasn't fun.

He'd done it once before and that was, to say the least, a bad experience.

Ten years of falling. A simultaneous rushing of wind past his ears and weightless nothing. At least, that’s how long the void told him it was. The void that whispered into his ears and his heart.

He remembered nothing before the nothing. Nothing before the sweet, tempting voice in the back of his head. Nothing before the deafening splash into the sea.

He remembered his body washing up on the beach. He remembered the grains of sand beneath his fingertips, and in every crevice, and joint, and lining his scalp. The tang of salt and sea on his lips, and in his nose, and in the corners of his eyes.

He remembered a face appearing in his vision. A man laced with a magical energy like fire and salt and sulphur. A man whose breath was cold and eyes were warm. A man who felt like the taste of ash on the back of your throat before you even see the smoke.

He remembered being pulled to his feet. Pain at the sudden use of muscles that had been doing nothing else for so long but hanging limp. Discomfort at feeling something solid other than himself. Disorientation at seeing the ground much farther away than he expected.

It was strange.

The man didn't even know he'd seen the ground before.

He remembered as this man led him into the world. Told him a name that shot through his mind like an arrow in his arm. Showed him the building, the land, the people.

He remembered as 'Tom' introduced himself, and asked for a name. He remembered how he stammered, how he faltered, how it was on the tip of his tongue and yet he still couldn't force it out. The smell of gunpowder and dirt as the man hummed.

"Tom two."

"Dude, no," 'Tucker' groaned. He was still working on whatever project as the four of them talked.

Sonja grinned. "Sparkles."

"With a Z, to make it cool!" The zombie grinned.

Tucker turned to glare at all of them. "No."

"Why nottt~…" Tom put his arm around the other man. The other man who felt like air and electricity. The other man who felt like the wetness and sharpness that hung before thunder cracked and lighting split the sky open. The other man who felt like a sprint through the open air when your legs began burning but the sheer freedom kept you going and going and going.

"Ooh- oh, wait!" Sonja had ran off into her house and returned with a hat. A toy, hand sewn, pirate's hat. She had set it on his head and pushed it down over his ears, making him almost drop the bread he had been given.

He blinked, looking up at the brim as he took another bite.

"Pirate Captain Sparklez~!" Tom grinned wide, eyes sparkling with the glow of cannonfire and flint sparks.

Cannonfire.

What's a cannon?

Sonja had launched at him, a grin on her face, pulling him into a hug. "Captain Sparklez!"

"I'm done with you guys," Tucker murmured, turning and going back to his project. "Nice to meet you, 'Captain'."

He remembered the smell of earth and trees on Sonja as she grinned and offered him a room. She, who felt like powder and sand. She, who felt like fungi that gave out spores and coated your throat like syrup. She, who felt like the crumbling of dead leaves in autumn.

He remembered the look of friendship yet rivalry as Tom offered him a place in his. The clashing smells of magma and streams through pine forests.

He remembered the look on her face as he chose the unnatural heat. The ash, the carbon, the coal, the metal. It was closer than the smells of air and earth that came from the others.

He remembered how Tucker had refused to call him by his name, and instead referred to him as ‘Captain’, and made every opportunity to make sure he knew that this was just a name, and had  _ nothing  _ to do with rank or authority. He assured Tucker many times that he knew this.

He remembered the sting in the back of his head as he read the letter from Mianite. The smell of the ocean in his lungs as he searched. The spray on his lips. The salt in his nose, and in the corners of his eyes.

He remembered the frown she studied him with.

He remembered the tank of judgement. The look that Dec gave him, filled with power and vortices that could suck you down into nothing, nothing, nothing.

He remembered how the thought of nothing, his home, filled him with fear.

He remembered how he overheard Sonja talking about how young he acted. 

He remembered his tree. His vault in the basement. His sword, his bow, his armour, his friends. The sensation of dying over and over just to each be revived by their gods.

He remembered his body shifting with the magic. The muscles growing under his skin, the familiarity of the land growing in his heart.

He remembered laughing with his friends. Loving them, hating them. Tense alliances and awkward teaming. There was no trust, yet he knew he could always rely on them if it was dire.

He remembered his ‘birthday’ - the anniversary of the day he had arrived. The restaurant, the fighting, the laughs. He remembered the violent reminder at that moment of how he still didn’t quite understand these people. These adult people. These.. Strange people.

He remembered the end.

He remembered staring down into the void.

He remembered his fall.

He remembered the look on his friend’s faces.

He remembered someone distant with that exact same expression.

He remembered the cool tentacles seeping into his mind again.

He remembered the feeling of the world approaching far below.

He remembered a lot of things.

So why, when they landed, and they looked around at this new world, and he saw the buildings, and he felt the magic, and he heard his friends, and he smelt the waves, and he tasted the dust in the air; why, when he saw faces and places and sensations that were far too familiar, far too close;

Why did he not remember?


	2. Chapter 2

The magic in this land was different. Tamed. Less wild. And yet, somehow, suffocating. It had reached an equilibrium in this land. The people knew how to control it far more than the champions ever did. It was in the air, in the water, in the very bricks the houses were built of.

They were welcomed. That didn’t settle his anxiety.

When he heard of King Helgrind, he imagined someone with a much younger face than who he ultimately met. He didn't know why. In the stories he had been told, in the books jammed into the Priest's library, the King was always an older man. Always older, always with a young, cocky prince, or a princess who needed saving.

So why did Helgrind look so.. Old?

And why were the young royaltys' personalities so.. Expected?

When he met Martha, he felt the rush of energy flow over him. She gave off gravity that sucked him in. Smelt like a warm fireplace. He remembered how she looked at him for a long, long time. How it unnerved everyone, even herself.

"Dude.." Tom murmured, "What. Was  _ that. _ "

The Captain shrugged, watching her talk with Sonja. Why did she, too, look too old? There was too much wisdom behind her eyes. Even now they'd met, he still found himself expecting someone different. Someone pouring over magic books and shoving him away when he badgered her to-

"Maybe it's cause you're good ol' Ianite." The zombie elbowed him with a grin, shaking away the thought. He wouldn't remember that thought later, anyway.

He just looked over with a teasing grin. "Maybe it's because you called me 'Sparklez', of all things."

"I'mma be honest," He laughed, "I only agreed to that because I thought you'd remember something and we'd just call ya that."

"Well, I clearly didn't."

Tom looked offended. A mockery, as was nearly everything 'serious' he did. "Hey, you didn't complain!"

"I didn't know it wasn't a normal name!"

The two laughed it off. Sparklez didn't actually care too much. It was his name. His family helped him choose, and he could have changed it if he really wanted to.

They built their homes, crafted their armour and weapons. They talked with the townsfolk and villagers, traded, made friends, made enemies.

Late nights after easy days were followed by drinking. The group of them down in the pub, laughing among themselves. Jokes of their prior world; jokes of their rivalries. On occasion, they would be joined. Guards, friends, trading partners. Farmer Steve was a regular; a lover of overhearing gossip.

"And- and Martha, bless 'er heart, named the wee beastie after her 'lil brother.."

Sonja laughed softly. "She named the slime Helgrind?"

"Naw, nawnawnaw.. He’s older I think.." Steve set down his drink. He was far too drunk. "The- that other one, yaknow?"

They stared at him, very, very confused. The four were suddenly rather glad that they had gone out that night.

"Nope," Tom murmured, shaking his head. "Last I checked, there were only two."

"Th' littlest one. Little.. 'Lil.. Ah, Gods, I can't remember.."

"I'm surprised you're even able to talk," Tucker muttered, glancing at the empty bottles around them.

"He was just wee. Tiny lad. Skinny as a stick." The farmer hiccoughed. "Could shoot a bow like nobody's business, though.."

The Mianitee was dumbfounded. "How can you remember that but not his actual name?"

"Don't question how a drunk's mind works," Sonja answered simply. She sighed and looked back up to the others. "I'm sure we'll find something about him in the library. I'm free tomorrow, I'll go look."

"I've gotta work on my vault tomorrow, so it's all you guys." Tom grinned.

She raised an eyebrow. "Unsurprising. Can you even read?"

"Wh- hey!" He went to stand, but his legs wobbled from underneath him. "I can read fine. Amazingly. Just ask Sparklez, he-... Uh.."

His chair was empty. None of them had noticed him leave. He'd taken his bag, too. The only trace that he'd been there was some gold on the table to pay for his drink. They assumed he had gone home. He was weird - arrived from nowhere, said strange things, did things that made no sense. This must just be another one of those. 

So they didn’t question it.

The next morning, Sonja realised herself wrong. She entered the building to find that the librarian had laid a blanket over where Sparklez had fallen asleep at a desk. He had a stack of books and scrolls next to him, all on the family and town history.

She settled herself next to him and read. They exchanged no words beyond a surprised 'hello' from Sparklez when he woke.

He liked books. They didn't beat around the bush or go on tangents. And if they did, he could skip it. They told him what he wanted to know far better than any person could.

Yet, he didn't find an answer.

A prince, the son of Ianite, half-god. He fell into the void at just the age of thirteen. Old enough to know better. Young enough to not understand.

Sparklez found himself drawn to the magic. The water, the plant life, the technology in this world. He built a mini-dimension all of his own. Somewhere, deep down, he knew someone was proud of him. He built a reactor in his world, built a storage system, built so many things for himself.

He was so far from the boy they found on a beach.

He was just as confused as that boy.

Boy.

Just a boy, when the young prince fell to the void.

Just a boy, when he slipped away from his family.

Just a boy, when his ankle twisted on a lump of end rock, sending him plummeting downwards.

Just a boy, when she called his name and leapt forwards to grab his hand, only to be a moment too late, even for a Goddess.

Sparklez blinked, taking a small step back from the edge of his spectral dimension. The white, endless nothing. The books said nothing about this.

"Yo, Sparklez!"

He heard the call through the membrane. He looked over, just able to see Sonja through all the things he had piled up.

"You good?"

He laughed and gave a thumbs up. Of course he was fine. Sonja wouldn't push it if he acted fine enough.

And she didn't.

When the team first entered the castle itself, it was a mess. Tom kept trying to swipe things and Sonja wasn't exactly stopping him. Tucker was the only voice of reason, and they only listened when he threatened to make a scene. None of them questioned how quiet Sparklez was as they were led through. He had been acting off since they arrived, after all. At this point it was just normal behaviour.

They did pause, however, when he did. When he stopped at a bench with a plaque on it.

_ In memoriam. _

He was sure there was a more elaborate grave somewhere, somewhere in the grounds, but this was what drew his attention.

_ Queen Freya _

_ Princess Alva _

_ Prince Jordan _

He frowned lightly, glancing it over. The wood was old. This bench was one he knew.

How.

How, to put it in his friends' terms, the  _ fuck _ did he know it.

"Are you alright?"

Sparklez looked up sharply at the touch on his shoulder, making Tom jump. He stared for a moment, then smiled.

"Yeah, of course? Why wouldn't I be?"

"Uh.." He looked awkward. "You zoned out for a bit there."

"Oh. Right~." Sparklez just chuckled.

There was a moment of quiet, then Tom shrugged and pulled him along.

Their meeting lasted far too long.

The dinner could have been the finest in the land - and probably was - but Sparklez found himself at a lack of appetite.

That night was quiet. Spent in their own homes. Each of their minds on their own question.

The next was deafening.

Thunder clapped through the sky and lightning blinded anyone who was foolish enough to be outside. Rain came down in fat droplets that stung like hail. Less than a few seconds outside, and one would immediately be soaked to the bone.

The Captain's bones were ice.

He had his magic, his wings, his coat, and yet here he stood, in nothing but his shirt and trousers. Boots in the mud. He stared up at the castle, squinting through the jet black hair plastered to his face.

He had his magic, but he climbed. Fingertips digging into the brick and toes clinging on. There was no way that anyone should be able to climb this, no way that someone could even grip on to the rock.

But here he was.

Captain Sparklez, follower of Ianite, champion of his realm.

Jordan, son of a Goddess, lost prince of the world.

He, called by the ocean and the salt. He, made of the smell of tarmac after rain. He, the feeling of waves during a storm.

The window latch was old, rusted. What was once held together with magic now crumbled. He tugged it open, breaking the metal with a simple crack. Then the magic hit him. A force holding anyone out of this area.

His hand slipped straight through.

The man practically fell through the window. He hurried to close it, to stop the water getting in. His clothes dripped onto the dusty wooden floor. He wiped the hair out of his face.

Everything here had a layer of dust over it. Abandoned, pristine. Not even spiders or ants could make their way into this room.

Yet he was here.

He wiped his hands on his trousers in a vague, ineffective attempt to dry them.

Clothes hung in a large wardrobe, built for someone half the size of him. The walls were neatly decorated, the bed nicely made. He stepped over. His attention faltered over a small, green toy. Crocheted, with a cute face on the front.

The door slammed.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

He looked up to see Martha stood there, angry, hair frazzled like she'd leapt out of bed. Perhaps she had. Perhaps that was her magic.

"HOW  _ DARE _ YOU BE HERE! HOW DID YOU GET IN?! HOW DID YOU EVEN GET IN THE CASTLE?!"

He was silent, staring at her. This rage was familiar. A prank gone wrong. A pet, half dyed bright pink.

"WHAT?! ARE YOU JUST GOING TO STAND THERE?!" Her voice turned to a snarl as she saw the toy. She readied her hands, preparing magic. "Put. That. Down."

Sparklez looked down at it. The water from his hands was slowly soaking into it. The adorable little cube. His friend. His best friend.

"Jerry."

Martha froze, all aggression gone.

"And Doggo," He laughed softly, looking over to a cat that laid on his pillow. Another, smaller one caught his eye. He couldn't help his smile. "Jimmy.."

The question didn't even need to leave her lips.

"I don't know," The young man murmured, holding Jerry in both hands. "I don't know. I don't remember anything before.. Before falling. Before my friends."

She swallowed, lowering her hands. She just  _ stared _ . The man felt panic under her gaze. Tears welled in his eyes, invisible until his lip quivered and they streamed down his face.

"Why don't I remember?"

The next moment was warm. Both knelt on the floor, arms wrapped around each other. She kept him close. Her magic slowly drew the water out of his clothes and off of his skin, and she threw it back out of the window with a simple flick. He didn't notice. All he knew was the warmth. The salt water in the corner of his eyes and the corner of his lips.

He slept in his own bed that night, comforted by his sister and a sweet lullaby.

The next time he saw his friends was a day later. The storm had blocked the next sunrise and sunset, only to dissipate in the night. It was the late afternoon when Jordan sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the window. He hadn't left this room. Not a single guard knew he was here. Martha had brought him cookies and a small portion of dinner throughout the day, even though they both knew he wouldn't eat.

"Don't go falling again," She half-teased, watching as he prepared to go.

"I won't," He assured her, holding his little friend tight.

He made his way back to his house. Nobody saw him leave the castle, nobody questioned what he held.

Tucker had noticed him walk by, far out of the city. He paused, unsure what to do, but he didn't have much time to think.

A simple knock at the door.

He opened it, already knowing the face behind it, but what he didn't expect was the tear stains down Sparklez's face. The bags under his eyes. The knuckles white, clutching a toy.

"Cap.."

"Can I have a hug?"

He was taken aback, but nodded. The shorter man practically launched at him, burying his face, hiding in Tucker's arms.

He led Sparklez inside, kicking the door shut. The other didn't complain at all.

The others arrived shortly. Sonja brought cookies, Tom brought a bucket of.. Something. Exactly what was needed to comfort a friend, apparently, because Sparklez just laughed at the pathetic attempt to cheer him up. This is why he loved them. 

They shared the cookies. There was probably kelp in there, but nobody mentioned it.

".. Where were you?" Sonja asked eventually, laying on the floor of the house, armour abandoned to one side.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "I dunno. I'd've expected you to be in your pocket dimension at least at some point during the storm, but I didn't see you at all. None of us did."

There was a pause.

"I'd left my key at home," He murmured.

"So you weren't at home."

Sparklez chuckled, laying on the sofa, legs over Tucker's lap, watching the ceiling.. Of course that was what she focused on. "No. I was.. In the castle."

That piqued their interest. Tom grinned.

"Ooh, getting funky with the royals~?"

He shook his head. There was a look in his eyes. Tom immediately knew he'd regret his statement.

Quiet stretched for a moment more. A pin drop would be heard.

"My name's Jordan," He said softly, staring straight up, refusing to look at them.

Realisation could nearly be tasted.

"Oh." Tom murmured from where he sat, before trying to lighten the mood as always. "Well, that's neat. Only took, what, couple years?"

The Captain snorted softly, kneading the soft toy in his hands. Every lump, every slightly uneven stitch.. They all felt so familiar.

"The lost Prince," Tucker murmured. "The boy who fell into the void when he was thirteen-"

"The boy who fell for a decade. Body growing, but mind stuck, slowly being eaten by the Darkness, until he fell into your world." Jordan paused. "At least, that's how Martha put it."

More silence.

This one was nowhere near as comfortable.

"So you  _ are _ just a kid," Tucker said finally. "Jeez, dude- the- the purges, the fighting, the missions, the  _ war _ -"

"I'm OK."

Sonja frowned. "... Are you?"

The boy had to think. Was he? Would he ever be?

"The only difference between an adult fighting and a child fighting is how emotionally stable they are. And, well, knowing you guys.."

Laughter. Sweet. Cherry blossoms floating away on a breeze, the last remnants of its tainted mother before she's fully consumed.

The jokes were fun. Things wouldn't be the same, but that in no way meant they couldn't still be good. Perhaps it was just that young, naïve optimism. Perhaps he'd always been this way. Then again, isn't that the same thing?

They talked. Talked, talked, talked. They asked questions that they knew he couldn't answer. He rolled with it, meeting their words with the sass that they'd taught him.

The four fell asleep as they talked. The storm had left them a lot of work to do, and the three had spent that morning doing it. They were all just.. Tired.

Tired.

When Jordan came face-to-face with Lady Ianite, he realised how he'd been avoiding this moment. He realised how, deep down, he felt anxious. Was he in trouble? What would she do? No more visits to the End? No more bow training with Dad? No-

…

Who's Dad?

Ianite stood there in silence. Her skirt flowed in the breeze like it was made of petals. Her hair, like it was underwater. She smelt of rock salt and seaweed and sand dunes.

Her eyes stared through his soul.

".. My Lady, I-"

He was cut off by her arms around him. A squeeze like lilies and chorus. The boy held his composure for just a moment - just a moment to take in her magic, like dust and abandoned stone - before he snapped. Uncontrollable sobs shook his body; tears streamed down his red hot cheeks.

Jordan had built himself houses. He'd built himself a family, and they'd built him. He'd built armour and tools and potions. He'd built a home that his friends turned into acacia, somehow.

But here? This smell, this feeling, this candlelight warmth?

This was home.

She pulled away, to look at his face, to hold him, but he held on tight. His chest, his mind, his magic. It clung to her, refusing to let him pull away.

The Goddess didn’t complain. She held her son close, hands running through his hair. Short, spiky, fluffy hair. Uneven from when Tom had last cut it. Every strand felt like his father’s.

“I’m here,” She whispered, chin on his head. “Breathe.”

Jordan forced a nod. He clutched to her shirt and forced himself to still.

Ianite pulled again. She kept close, arms around him, one hand up and cupping his cheek.

“I’ve got you.”

He nodded, a small sniffle escaping him as he looked up.

“I’ve got you, my child.”

And he held on. He hid in her as he would every time after.

He would breathe in the magic of the realm. Of his brother, his sister, his mother, his nephew. His nephew. He had a  _ nephew _ .

Andor. Sweet Prince Andor. A boy who was so much like how he felt he used to be. Used to be.

He would never be that boy again. Some of the most defining years of his mental development was spent at war, in tense situations. Taught that he couldn’t trust anyone. He knew he could. He knew his friends, he knew that they loved him.

He knew that.

He knew that as they held another Purge. As his siblings watched in horror as Jordan enjoyed it. Their young, innocent brother. The tiny boy who refused to shoot an arrow at even an illusion.

He knew that as his friends got angry at him for teleporting them to the End over, and over, and over.

He knew that as he worked to help them create machines, gather materials, build structures.

And he would remember it as he watched them go.

They would go home. Their home. Not his.

They would go.

Leave him.

And he would just watch.

**Author's Note:**

> might mess around.. write some more.. who knows :/


End file.
